FOUND AT LAST.
IT was nearly a mile to the street where Mr. Mason lived; but Sandy did
not pause to take breath in his rapid race. He tore along the pavement,
and dashed over the crossings, as he might have done if a policeman had
been in chase of him. When he reached Mr. Mason's house, he knocked at
the door with an earnestness that procured an immediate attention.
"I'm come for Mr. Mason!" he gasped. "John Shafto's dyin', and he wants
to see him."
"Master's not at home," said the servant; "he went out at six o'clock."
"Where's he gone to?" enquired Sandy, with a blank feeling of dismay.
"I'll go and ask," answered the servant, leaving him on the doorstep,
panting for breath, and sitting down to take rest for one minute.
It was very hard to find Mr. Mason gone out; for if he were not back
quickly, perhaps John Shafto would be dead, and he would never, never
hear him speak again. Would it not be best to return at once with the
news that Mr. Mason was not at home? But then John was so fond of him,
whom he had known and loved years before he had picked up Sandy in the
streets. And Mr. Mason would be deeply grieved if he found John dead,
without any good-bye between them. It would be a sore disappointment to
them both. Yet suppose neither he nor Mr. Mason could be in time, and
each of them lost the sad pleasure of seeing Johnny once more! Surely
it would not be wrong to go back at once, and make sure of it for
himself!
Sandy had not quite made up his mind, when the door was opened again by
the servant; and he sprang to his feet to hear what she had to tell him.
"Masters only gone to a farewell tea-meeting at Miss Murray's,"
she said. "She's going to start for Canada to-morrow with a lot of
children; and master's sending out two of the boys from his Refuge, so
he's gone to see them for the last time. It's about twenty minutes from
here, the place is."
"I know the place," interrupted Sandy; "we took a load of wood there
this mornin' for Miss Murray's boys to chop up."
"That's where master is at this moment," said the servant.
She shut the door again, leaving Sandy on the step, still uncertain
what to do.
It was a mile farther on, a long mile: and every step would increase
the distance between himself and John Shafto. He started back towards
home, and ran swiftly to the end of the street, feeling that he could
not go the other way. But he paused again there. How grieved John would
be! And Mr. Mason, what would he say when he heard John Shafto was
dead, without one word of good-bye? Would he suffer anything like the
sorrow he was feeling? Suddenly Sandy set off again in the opposite
direction, and did not waste another instant, or pause again, until he
reached the place where he would find Mr. Mason.
It was a large building—a home for destitute children, who found their
way to it from all parts of London. Every window was lighted up, and
there was a great stir about it, of people passing in and out busily.
To-morrow a number of orphan boys and girls, taken out of the very
gutters of the City, were about to start for a new home in Canada; and
many of their friends had met for the purpose of bidding them good-bye,
and giving them little keepsakes for them to remember the old country
by in after-life.
Sandy made his way to the entrance of the large room, where they were
assembled, but he could not push in at first, for the crowd in the
doorway. He could hear Mr. Mason's voice speaking; and he listened
impatiently. But he did not know that he might not be hustled out,
if he interrupted his speech, and perhaps be given in charge of the
policeman he had seen near the outer door.
By degrees Sandy pressed into the room, eager to catch Mr. Mason's
eye, and stop him in his long farewell speech to the boys and girls,
which was eating away the little time left to John Shafto and himself.
He could see the emigrants now; boys, like himself, who had known the
worst of the City life, and who had starved, and shivered in rags, and
slept out in the cold, and trodden the pavement barefoot never knowing
from day to day what they should eat, or where they should lay their
heads. And there were girls too, whose lives had been as bad; but who
were now sitting together in warm scarlet hoods and blue dresses,
making so bright a spot amid the dingy crowd that they drew Sandy's
eyes to them. He glanced at them for a moment, thinking how pretty
little Gip would look dressed so; and then he pushed still nearer to
Mr. Mason.
Now he could see Miss Murray herself, with a very little girl upon her
lap, the smallest and the youngest by far of the emigrants; a child in
a scarlet hood and blue frock like the others.
Sandy's eyes were fastened upon her; and he stood as still as if he had
been turned into stone, every other object vanishing quite out of his
sight. This little girl had her face towards him, a tiny face, but not
pinched like Gip's; a rosy face, with bright black eyes, and pretty
black hair curling under the scarlet hood. It could not be Gip! Was it
possible that it could be his little Gip? He dared not breathe or move.
But all at once she raised her little hands to her face, and peeped
through the open fingers at the people around her; just one of Gip's
pretty tricks, the very one he had taught her himself! No. It could not
be any other child than Gip!
"Gip!" he shouted suddenly, at the highest pitch of his voice, till the
roof rang again; "Gip! My little Gip!"
Mr. Mason stopped in his speech, and every eye was turned upon Sandy.
But he did not see a single face about him; no face but little Gip's,
with wide-open, searching, wondering eyes, gazing everywhere in search
of him. He heard no sound, except Gip's shrill little voice, calling,
"Here I are, Dandy! Here little Gip are. Where's Dandy?"
In another second, Sandy had forced his way to the front, and held out
his arms to Gip, who ran into them, with a shrill scream of delight.
[Illustration: In another second Sandy had forced his way to the front,
and held out his arms to Gip, who ran into them, with a shrill scream
of delight.]
He sat down on the floor, with her on his lap, and hid his face on the
little scarlet hood, scarcely knowing whether they had not both died,
and gone into that heaven of which he had only heard since he had lost
her.
"Oh! Dandy, Dandy!" cried little Gip, clinging to him with all her
strength. "Dandy's come back again to Gip!"
Sandy did not notice how quiet every one was around them. There was
no sound, except that of deep-drawn sobs; for many of the people who
had gathered round were in tears. Mr. Mason came down from the little
platform, where he had been standing, and laid his hand on Sandy's head.
"Is it your lost little Gip?" he asked.
"Ay!" answered Sandy, holding her tightly in his arms, and looking
anxiously about him to see if he could make his escape from the room
with her; "ay! it's my little Gip. Nobody mustn't take her away from me
again, you know. She belongs to me, and I'll take care of her now. She
mustn't be took off to Canada away from me."
"No, no," said Mr. Mason, "we will not take Gip from you, my boy. If
she goes, you shall go. But stand up, Sandy, and tell Miss Murray all
about her."
He rose to his feet very slowly and reluctantly, not loosening for an
instant his hold of Gip. All he could see was an indistinct ring of
faces of people closing him in, so that he could not get away; but he
spoke out in a loud, clear voice.
"Mother was always a-gettin' drunk," he said, "and one bitter night she
lost little Gip in the streets; and I've been searchin' for her up and
down, everywhere, ever since. If it hadn't been for Johnny Shafto, I'd
have died maybe. But I want you to let me take her, and keep her; and
I'll be very good to her. Gip 'ud never be happy without me; and Mrs.
Shafto and Johnny 'll be very good to her. Oh! if you please, Johnny's
dyin', and he sent me to ask you to come d'reckly."
"Wait one minute," said Miss Murray, as Mr. Mason was about to hurry
away. "I must tell my friends here how this little girl came under my
care. She was found crying in the streets one night by a girl who had a
sister in this Home; and she brought her direct to me. None of us could
learn from her either her name, or where she lived; and we kept her
with us, whilst I made every enquiry I could. I shall be sorry to go to
Canada without my little girl to-morrow; but Mr. Mason will take care
of them both, and perhaps they will come out with me next time."
Sandy heard very few of these words; for now his terror lest John
Shafto should be dead awoke again with greater force. If he were still
alive, he would see little Gip after all! He was all impatience to be
off; and in a few minutes he found himself, with Gip still in his arms,
sitting beside Mr. Mason in a cab, the driver of which had been ordered
to go as fast as he could to Mr. Shafto's house.
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